


Power Plays

by EASchechter



Series: On his Brother-in-Law's Secret Service. [11]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Cabin Pressure, Man From U.N.C.L.E., Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EASchechter/pseuds/EASchechter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What a difference a year makes. And yet... so much remains the same. Set one year after the events of Witchy Woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_What a difference a year makes._ Martin mused as he looked down at the date he'd just written on top of the payroll form. Exactly one year ago, people had been trying to kill him. Exactly one year ago, he'd learned the truth about his family and his heritage. And exactly one year ago, he'd gotten engaged.

Well, no one was trying to kill him anymore, at least not today. But there were days when he was fairly certain that Carolyn wanted to strangle him. He grinned and started filling out the forms, wishing that Carolyn would agree to let him modernise the office. It had been six months since, with Livvy's blessing, Martin had made the proposal to Carolyn -- he would subsidize MJN Air's debts, put his personal plane at Carolyn's disposal, and bring on more staff, in return for a silent, junior partnership in the airline. He'd made sure to stress the junior part of the deal; MJN was and always would be Carolyn's. It had done quite well for the both of them, too. MJN was profitable, for the first time since Carolyn had won her ex-husband's plane in the divorce settlement. They had a growing reputation for reliable, dependable and absolutely discreet service. The only downside was that he wasn't getting to fly as often any more -- with three pilots and only two planes, there were days when all he did was paperwork. Like today. It chafed a little, especially since he knew that the time was very quickly approaching when he'd be grounded for two months.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his mobile rang, a very distinct ring. He smiled and picked it up. "Good morning, Lady Crieff," he said brightly.

"Good morning, Sir Darling," Livvy answered. "You're very cheerful. Are you flying today?"

"No, I'd have called you if I was. Douglas and George are taking this run, and I think Carolyn set the schedule on purpose to keep me on the ground. It doesn't look as if I'm flying at all until after I come back from leave, unless there is an emergency sometime within the next ten days. So, I've been doing payroll. Have you seen Maggie yet?"

"Just finished. She says we're fine, that everything is proceeding as it should be, and that the little miss is fully engaged, and that I'm two centimeters dilated. Could be any day now. She says if I go longer than a week, she'll be very surprised."

Martin looked up and nodded as Carolyn came into the office, fighting down the brief wave of stark terror that usually accompanied the thoughts of impending fatherhood. "Right, then. You rest, and I'll see you later."

"I'll call you after lunch," Livvy said. "And Papa and Greg invited us for dinner."

"If you're up to it," Martin answered firmly. "We can always have them over and bring in take-away."

"I think that might have been the idea." Livvy sounded amused. "I love you."

Martin smiled. "I love you, too. See you tonight." He rang off, then looked over his shoulder. "Good morning, Carolyn."

"Good morning. And how is she?"

"We're looking at any day now, according to the midwife. So leave might start at any moment."

"I expected as much when I saw that the baby had dropped. It's a good thing I finished this last night," Carolyn said as she came over and placed a brightly colored bag on Martin's desk. He looked at her, and she nodded. "Open it."

Martin opened the bag and saw piles of soft purple. Piles that proved to be a soft, knit blanket, a matching sweater, and a tiny knit hat with what looked like kitten ears. He laughed, delighted. "Violet for Violet. Carolyn, these are wonderful! Did... you didn't make these?" He laughed again. "I didn't know you could knit."

"I'm surprised I remembered how," Carolyn answered, looking very satisfied. "The last time I really picked up needles was when Arthur was but a wee little boy."

Martin packed the things away in the bag carefully, then got to his feet and leaned down to kiss Carolyn on the cheek. "They're beautiful. Livvy will love them. Thank you."

Carolyn blushed slightly and pushed him back towards the desk. "Go along now. Payroll won't do itself. Are Douglas and George in?"

"George is onboard, starting the pre-flight checks," Martin answered as he sat back down. "Douglas is late. As usual. But he did call. There's traffic--"

"There is always traffic," Carolyn snapped. She leaned over Martin's shoulder. "Fiona just arrived," she said softly.

Martin winced. Fiona McAllister was the newest employee of MJN Air, and in the three months that she'd been here, had turned from a lovely, young stewardess into a thorn in Martin's side. "When are we letting her go, Carolyn?" he asked.

"I'll do it while you're on leave," Carolyn answered. "I don't want you involved."

"Thank you." Martin rubbed his forehead. For some reason, Fiona had set her cap for Martin, and despite the fact that he'd been firm with the girl -- he was happily married, and deeply in love with his wife -- she simply was not taking no for an answer. In the past month, it had gotten to the point that Douglas was now actively running interference on those flights when Martin flew, and there was no choice but to send Fiona as part of the crew. Still, if he had to fend off one more thinly-veiled sexual invitation, or hear one more coy come-on, he was going to scream, or do something that would make Willow look askance at him.

His mobile rang, and he looked down at it and snorted. "I should have been thinking of winning the lottery," he said out loud, picking up the mobile. "Hello, Willow. Are you psychic now? I was just thinking of you."

"No, just calling to check on my favorite student," Willow answered. "How's the missus?"

"Due any minute."

Willow giggled. "Cool! I can't wait to meet the baby. I'll be in London in two weeks--"

"Are we picking you up?" Martin interrupted, turning the pages on his desk calendar. "I'll be on leave by then. But I should be able to be here to meet you."

"No, no. This is a personal trip. I'm driving."

Martin snorted. "You're sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Willow answered, sounding both amused and annoyed. "I'll be fine. It was just that one time."

"Of course. All right. Remember to drive on the left, and I'll see you in two weeks."

"I'll see you then. Oh, damn."

"What?"

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Now I can't think of it."

Martin smiled. "If you think of it, ring me back. I've got to go. Payroll won't do itself."

"All right. Oh, I've sent another package of books down. Maybe you'll have a chance to read them."

"Once the baby comes? I doubt it. I will try, though."

"Good. You're coming along very well, Martin. I'm really proud of you."

Martin smiled, feeling warmth creeping up his throat. "Thanks. Look, I really do have to go."

"Okay. I'll call back if I think of why it was I called in the first place. Bye... Daddy." With a giggle, Willow hung up. Martin shook his head and laid the mobile aside. Paperwork.

He had just gotten back into the payroll paperwork when he heard the door open. He didn't look up -- he didn't need to. Fiona's perfume acted as an early-warning system.

"Good morning," she called out. "And how is everyone this lovely morning?"

"We were fine," Carolyn answered tartly. "Fiona, how many times do I have to tell you to stop wearing that much perfume? You'll suffocate the customers."

"And everyone else in the plane," Martin muttered, reaching for his coffee-cup. Empty. Damn. He started to get up, and immediately heard clicking heels behind him, then a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll get that for you, Captain," Fiona almost purred in his ear. She took the cup from his hand and moved away, and Martin turned towards Carolyn and rolled his eyes. Carolyn shook her head and nodded.

"Fiona, there's work for you on GERTI," Carolyn said. "Martin is fully capable of fetching his own coffee."

"Oh, but I like taking care of the Captain," Fiona answered, coming back to the desk. She leaned over Martin to put the coffee-cup down, and he could feel her body pressed against his back. Her fingers lingered over his shoulders, then trailed up his neck. And his control snapped.

"Get off me, Fiona," he said, almost not recognizing his own voice. She squeaked in surprise as he abruptly got to his feet, the chair pushing her backwards hard enough that she nearly fell. He turned, and felt his shields rise around him. He didn't stop to wonder why he was instinctively defending from a magical attack -- Willow had drilled him hard on defense. He did see the shock on Carolyn's face, and realized that he might just be putting too much power into those shields. He had an unfortunate tendency to glow...

"I've had enough of this, Fiona," he said sharply, seeing the stunned look on her face. "I am not interested in you. I have never been interested in you. I've told you, more than once, that I am a married man."

Fiona glared at him, then spat out one word, "Monaco."

Martin blinked in surprise, then shook his head. "And how did you get Arthur to tell you that? No, don't tell me. Knowing you, you probably slept--" he stopped, frozen in shock at the sudden realization. "You did, didn't you. You little tart. You slept with Arthur, to get information on me. What were you thinking? Blackmail? That I'd sleep with you to keep you from telling my wife about Monaco? Well, I have news for you, Fiona. You don't have to tell Lady Crieff about Monaco. She was there." There was a sudden burst of satisfaction as the color drained from Fiona's face. "Oh, and let me put an end to your back-up plans, too. If you should try to ruin me, or attempt to hurt my wife, by spreading rumors of my infidelities to the papers? Then you'd better find yourself a very deep hole to hide in."

"Why?" Fiona stammered. "What would you do?"

"Not me, darling. My father-in-law. Now, why don't you get started on finding that hole?" Martin turned and picked up his cup, walked over to the sink, and poured the coffee out. "You can go," he said over his shoulder.

Carolyn jumped in immediately. "Yes. Yes, I think that's for the best. I'll send your check."

"What?" Fiona gasped.

"You're fired, Miss McAllister. Your services are no longer required. Now, get out, and take your stink with you."

Martin didn't turn, focusing on washing out the cup. He heard the door open, then slam closed hard enough to bounce open once more. When it closed once more, a soft click that echoed in the silent room, he put both hands on the counter and slumped.

"I'm sorry, Carolyn," he said quietly. "I couldn't put up with that... whore--"

"Don't apologize, Martin. I should have done it sooner." Carolyn sighed. "Was I seeing things, or were you--?"

"Blue?" Martin finished, smiling nervously at Carolyn. "My control slipped. Sorry. Do you think she saw?"

"Your back was to the window. She's probably dismissed it as a trick of the light. Now, let me call Arthur and tell him he's flying today. Dear God. I'll have to have the poor boy fumigated."

Martin snorted, turning and leaning against the counter. "What's the run today? I could steward, if you needed me to."

"It's overnight. Oddly enough, to Monaco. Do I want to know?"

Martin grinned. "Probably not. I will tell you Douglas was impressed."

"Now I'm truly frightened," Carolyn said. "Martin Crieff, I'm not sure which of you is the bad influence on the other."

"What, Douglas and me?"

"No. You and Olivia. You never used to get up to shenanigans that would get you blackmailed."

"No. No, I didn't. Speaking of, I should let Mycroft know."

"Give him my best, will you?"

"Of course."


	2. Chapter 2

 "He's late."

Mycroft looked up from his drink and smiled at his daughter, who missed it. She was pacing the length of the room, looking down at the mobile in her hand and frowning, her other hand absently rubbing her swollen belly.

"Traffic, probably," Greg offered from his seat by the fireplace.

"He'd have called. He's late, and he isn't answering his mobile. He didn't answer at lunch, either and he knew I was calling him. He never ignores my calls, especially not now." Livvy glared at the mobile once more, then set it down on the table. "Carolyn isn't answering, either."

"That is odd," Mycroft murmured. "Carolyn not want to talk?"

"You said Martin called you earlier?" Livvy asked, still pacing. "About what?"

Mycroft considered the conversation that he'd had with his son-in-law, then answered, "Employee trouble."

"Oh, did they finally fire the bitch?"

Greg coughed and looked at her in shock. "Liv!"

"Sorry, Greg. Martin told me about Fiona. He said they would probably be firing her soon. What happened?"

"Apparently, she attempted to blackmail Martin into sleeping with her," Mycroft said. "As you might imagine, that did not go well."

"Since Martin tells me everything, I imagine not," Livvy agreed, her voice dry. "I wish Martin had been able to convince Carolyn to put better computers in the office."

"Why, so you can hack them?" Greg asked. "Sweetheart, that's illegal."

"I didn't admit to anything, and you haven't caught me, Papa Greg." Livvy sat down, only to be up and moving again a moment later. "Hypothetically speaking, though, it would be preferable to worrying."

"True. Should I call and have someone check?" Mycroft offered. As he asked the question, Livvy's mobile rang.

"There he is," Greg said.

"That's not his ring," Livvy answered as she picked up the mobile. "That's odd. It's Arthur." She touched the screen. "Hi, Arthur. You're on speaker."

"Hi, Mrs. Skip!" Arthur said, sounding cheerful as ever. "Is Skip there?"

"No, Arthur. He's not home yet. Is something wrong?"

"No. Well, maybe. I can't reach Mum. There's a problem with the hotel arrangements, and we need her to straighten them out. But she's not answering."

Livvy glanced at her father, who nodded. He rose and took his own mobile from his pocket, then left the room. "We'll check on her, Arthur," she said. "In the mean time.... ah... tell Douglas to use the special card Martin gave him. He'll know what you mean."

"Right. Special card." There was silence for a moment, then Douglas' voice replaced Arthur's. "Did I understand that right? Given that I'm only getting half the conversation--"

"You did, Douglas. Use the emergency card to book your rooms."

"Olivia? Where's Martin?"

"Good question. I'll call you back when I have an answer." Livvy touched the screen again, and looked at Mycroft, who had just come back into the room. "Papa?"

"I've called your uncles." He looked down at his mobile. "They're on their way."

#

"Did Mycroft say why we need to look on on MJN?" John asked as he climbed out of the cab and followed Sherlock towards the MJN office.

"Livvy is worried. Martin is over an hour late, and not answering his calls. Carolyn isn't answering her calls, either. No one answered the satcom when Douglas tried to contact them from Monaco," Sherlock called over his shoulder. "And there was some unpleasantness with a former employee this morning."

"Former employee?" Jim asked as he caught up with John. "Considering that there's a flight out, I assume that the former employee would that be the Fiona woman?"

Sherlock looked back at them. "You knew about her?"

"I ran her background check," Jim admitted. "I do for all of the MJN new hires, since they work so closely with the department. There were no tell-tales, no prior issues. Why did they fire her?"

"Mycroft didn't say." Sherlock tried the door and frowned. "Locked."

"Sherlock, look over there," John said, nodding towards the parking slots. "That's Carolyn's car. Where's Martin's van?"

"And who drives the little sports car?" Jim added. "See? That one, over there. Behind Douglas' car."

Sherlock turned, looked at the cars, then frowned and reached into his pocket. A few moments later, he turned the knob and opened the office door. John followed him into the darkened office, grimacing at the bitter smell of burnt coffee. Behind him, he heard the click of the light switch.

"John!"

John didn't need Sherlock to alert him; he pushed past his husband and dropped to his knees besides Carolyn's prone body. He felt for a pulse, relaxing slightly when he found one, slow but steady.

"She's alive," he said. "Drugged, I think. Jim, call 999."

"Already on it," Jim answered. "What the hell happened here?"

John shook his head, checking Carolyn for injuries. An odd smudge on the side of her coat..."Sherlock, does this look like a footprint to you?"

He felt Sherlock behind him. "Yes. A woman's. Look here, where her heel caught the material and pulled." He paused, then added. "1.63 meters tall, about 65 kilos."

"Fiona," Jim murmured from behind them. "Although she'd probably scratch your eyes out if she heard you. She claims 60 kilos on her papers." He joined them, held a coffee-cup out to Sherlock. "Sniff."

Sherlock sniffed, then shook his head. "Smells fine. Why?"

"Because this was on the floor under the counter." Jim held his hand out to reveal a small, white tablet. John's jaw dropped; he grabbed Jim's wrist and pulled his hand down to get a closer look. Small, white.... and with the word "Roche" stamped into one side.

"Flunitrazepam," he said. "Rohypnol. But they haven't made the tablets like this in years. The new ones are green. So they won't..." He paused, reached down and checked Carolyn's pulse again.

"So they won't what?" Jim asked.

"So they won't be able to be used to spike a drink.  The new ones are made with a strong blue dye, to change the color of anything you drop it into. These older ones were being used as date-rape drugs." John looked up. "Why would a stewardess have a date-rape drug on her? That isn't something you carry--"

"Unless you mean to use it." Sherlock shook his head and turned away, pulling his mobile out of his pocket. "Lestrade. We have a situation. We'll need you at the airfield. And do try not to worry her."

#

_Waiting in GERTI, having Livvy curled up on the couch next to him, sipping coffee and chatting. Then having her in his arms, his hands under her shirt, her hands on his chest. No interruptions this time. No vampires. Just her, her body warm against his as she stripped him of his uniform. But... something was wrong._

_Livvy didn't wear perfume._

Martin groaned as sharp teeth nipped as his throat, tried to shift and couldn't. Tried again, felt metal digging into his wrists. It was enough to drag him the rest of the way out of the drug-haze and into coherence, and he gasped for breath as he opened his eyes.

Industrial ceiling, high beams and chains, harsh lights and dark windows. Turning revealed the posts of a heavy metal bed, and the handcuffs holding him prisoner. Another nip, and he looked down to see dark-blonde hair and a sickeningly familiar smirk.

"Back with me, Captain?"

"Fiona?" Martin gasped. Full awareness. He was naked. She was naked. And... "Get off me!" Martin tried to roll away and discovered his legs were bound together, and tethered to the foot of the bed. He couldn't move.

She crouched over him, laughing as she leaned down and licked his chest. "Make me," she crooned, stretching out over him. "Oh, try and tell me you're not enjoying this, darling. That lovely cock tells me otherwise."

"No!" Martin heard his voice crack. "Get off me!" Defense. All he knew was defense. He needed to stop her...

When his magic broke free, he had no control over it at all. The terror-fueled rush left him dizzy and gasping; Fiona screamed as her weight on his chest vanished. Martin heard a heavy thump, a sick-sounding crunch, then... nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

 John went to the hospital with Carolyn, and called Mycroft en route to update him on the situation. Sherlock and Jim stayed behind, to investigate further and to wait for Lestrade and his team. So, John wasn't all that surprised to find Mycroft and Livvy waiting for him when he got to the hospital.

"How is she?" Livvy asked.

"Starting to wake up," John answered. "Hopefully, she'll be able to tell us what happened. How useful it will be, I've no idea. She'll probably have lost anything that happened right before she blacked out. It's one of the side-effects. How are you, Livvy?"

"Scared," Livvy answered immediately. "And Martin?"

"Sherlock and Jim are trying to figure out where he might have been taken. We're pretty certain it was Fiona."

"I've got a full security search running on my laptop, the kind of thing we do when someone joins the department," Livvy told him. "But the laptop isn't as fast as the computers in the Web. I might have something soon, or it might take the rest of the night. I don't understand, though. I saw Jim's report on her. And I know the job he does. How did this get past him?"

John shrugged, slightly distracted by the way Livvy was standing, one hand on the small of her back. "No idea, Livvy. And I'm sure he's asking himself the same question right now. Are you sure you're all right?"

"My back hurts. It's nothing. We need to call Arthur."

"I've already taken care of it, my dear," Mycroft said. "And, by now, he's on a commercial flight back to London. Anthea will bring him from the airport." He smiled slightly as Livvy looked up at him. "It will do them both good."

"Thank you, Papa."

"You're welcome. Doctor, what do you know?"

John frowned, trying to put his thoughts in order. "The entire office smelled of burned coffee. That pot had been sitting on the burner for hours. The coffee in the cup Jim showed us was stone-cold. There were unfinished forms on Martin's desk, and unopened mail on Carolyn's. And a present, on Martin's."

"Unfinished forms?" Livvy asked. "Unfinished payroll forms?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Martin was just starting payroll when I last spoke to him. About nine thirty this morning. He doesn't drink coffee after noon if he's not flying."

"And the charter to Monaco was on the schedule to lift at ten thirty," Sherlock said as he walked towards them. "It seems safe to assume that this happened sometime between when the flight left and when you called at one." He held Martin's mobile out to Livvy.

John checked his watch. "It's half seven now. So Martin's been missing for something between six and eight hours."

"And she took his van," Jim added. "Not surprising. That car she was driving wasn't big enough to hide him."

Livvy looked up from Martin's mobile. "I'm not the only one who's been calling him. Willow's tried to reach him four times. I'm going to call her." Before she could, her own mobile rang. She pulled it out of her coat pocket and blinked in surprise. "It's Willow!"

As Livvy walked away, her mobile to her ear, John turned to Sherlock and Jim. "What else did you find?"

"She has atrocious taste in perfume," Jim volunteered. "And that little sports car was reported stolen four months ago."

"Stolen? But, how is that possible? How is she driving a stolen car?" John asked.

"There's more," Sherlock added. "There's no evidence of any kind of a trolley, or anything that she could have used to move Martin out of the office and into his van. No sign of a body being dragged, nor is there any evidence that she moved the van to the door. So how did a woman of that height and weight move an unconscious man who tops her in both height and weight?"

"You're looking almost indecently gleeful over the disappearance of your son-in-law," John said in a low voice. Sherlock glanced at him, then nodded.

"Right. Right. I should... not do that." He looked past John, who turned to see Livvy coming towards them. "Anything new?"

"Two things," Livvy answered. "First, Willow has been trying to warn Martin all day. There is apparently something major moving into the city, and it is powerful enough that the seers missed it entirely for months."

John glanced at Jim, who was frowning. "How many months, Liv?" Jim asked.

"Three or four. Willow said it was hard to be certain, since there was absolutely no sign of this... whatever it is before three months ago. And it comes and goes, so there's no pattern. But it's getting stronger."

John glanced at Sherlock, who was also frowning. "What was the other thing?" John asked, looking back at Livvy.

Livvy looked down at the mobile, her fingers tight enough around it that her knuckles were white. "Willow keeps track of Martin's magic. She wants to be certain he's not doing anything beyond his current abilities. To keep him from the same problems she faced. About half an hour ago, Martin's magic spiked. Like a flare, she said." She looked up. "Willow thinks he's in danger. He's fighting something. And she's hoping that one and two are in no way related. Because if they are..." her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. "She thinks that the spike was in northwest London, but can't pinpoint it better than that. It happened too quickly, and she wasn't ready. She's watching now, and if she gets a lock on him, she'll call."

Sherlock nodded, looking distant for a moment. Then he focused on Livvy, putting his hands on her shoulder. "Poppet, go home. Rest."

"I wanted to see Carolyn--"

"You can see her in the morning," Sherlock interrupted. "Go home. Or go to 221B. Let Mrs. Hudson fuss over you. You know how she loves to."

Livvy grinned slightly. "She does. But--"

"We'll find him, Poppet. You said you were running a search on Fiona's background? I want that information as soon as you have it. Anything else you have on her."

"Jim can get that for you, and I'll get the information I find to you soonest. Now tell me what else you found." Livvy looked up at him, a determined look on her face that John knew very well, having seen it at least once a day on the face of his own husband. "You kept talking, after I left to talk to Willow. What else?"

"The car. Fiona's car was reported stolen, some four months ago."

"Four months?" Livvy murmured. "And... Fiona showed up at MJN looking for a job three months ago. Her resume was good. Her background check was clean. I know the kind of job you do, Jimmy. And... oh." Livvy gnawed on her lip. "What Willow said. About a big something that seemed to come and go, so it was hard to get a trace of it? I need to find out from her what the pattern was."

Sherlock blinked twice and whispered, "Oh. Oh, yes. We need that data."

"Missed a turn. Why?" John asked.

Livvy's grin this time was cold. "I need to overlay it on the MJN schedule. I'm willing to bet that the times that thing was off the radar were the times that Fiona was part of the cabin crew."

#

Martin wasn't sure how long it was before he could focus again. The place was quiet, and shouting did nothing but echo. There was obviously no one near enough to hear him. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to concentrate. There had to be a way to get out of this!

 _All right. What do we know?_ He asked himself the question, then snorted. Fuck all was what he knew. He had no idea where he was, how long he'd been there, or why.... well, he did know why. But not _why_? And he wouldn't find that out, either.

It was late, though. By now, someone had noticed he was gone. Christ, what had happened to Carolyn? He couldn't remember... no, Martin. Focus. Someone had to have noticed he was gone. Which meant that the smartest people in the world -- his wife, both her fathers and all of her step-fathers, and fuck if that wasn't the most confusing family tree in existence -- were looking for him now. He just needed to stay alive long enough for them to find him. That was hopeful.

 _Good. Good. Now, can I get out of this_? Martin craned his neck to try and see how he was bound. Handcuffs. Right, no good there. Defensive magic wasn't going to do a damn thing against handcuffs. But... he shifted, trying to move his legs, then nodded. Rope. He closed his eyes and tried to remember his last lesson. Willow had been teaching him to light candles...

It took four tries and three burns (one on his left ankle, two on his right knee) before he had managed to free his legs. He kicked the smoldering rope fragments as far as he could off the bed and squirmed until he had managed to get into a sitting position with his back against the headboard. Now he could see.

Definitely a warehouse. Large room with smaller office-type spaces built against the walls. There was the oddest feeling that the place was lived in. He looked around, straining to see behind him, and saw boxes. Suitcases. An area that seemed to be set up as a sort of media center, with a computer and a television. And hanging against the wall, an MJN Air uniform.

 _Right. This is where she lives. Can't say much for her taste... wait. Her address is in Neasden. This can't be Neasden. We've been to Neasden, and there aren't warehouses in Neasden. Unless you count IKEA-- stop it, Martin. You're raving_. He shook his head and frowned. Not Neasden. But close, more than likely. Closed his eyes and thought, trying to use the other training he'd been getting over the past year. How to see, how to listen. How to think.

Willesden. Close to Neasden, industrial. Lots of warehouses for rent. He'd lay even money he was in Willesden.

 _Great. What good is that going to do me?_ Martin tipped his head back against the headboard and frowned. Too bad the telepathy thing hadn't stayed on... or had it? Livvy always seemed to know what he was thinking. Maybe she really did? He closed his eyes and thought of his wife as hard as he could, thought Willesden. Thought until his head hurt.

 _Well, that probably didn't work. Now what?_ Martin blinked and winced at the pain in his head. _Great. Headache to go along with the sore wrists. Not tonight, sweetie, I've just been kidnapped. Oh,_ stop it _, Martin! You're getting punchy!_

Martin licked his lips and did the one thing he'd been trying to avoid since he'd gotten himself into a position where he could see. He looked for Fiona, and found her, her body crumpled on the floor at the base of the closest wall. He swallowed and looked away -- he hadn't meant to kill her. He'd just wanted her to stop before--

Dear God, was it before? Or was it again? How far had she gone before he'd woken up? He couldn't tell. Feeling unbearably vulnerable, Martin drew his knees to his chest and started layering shields over himself, over the bed, until he was certain that nothing was going to be able to touch him without his permission.

Funny. Through the shields, it almost looked as if Fiona was moving...


	4. Chapter 4

 Once Livvy had seen Carolyn, she agreed to go home, sitting quietly in the front seat next to Mycroft, staring out the window. In the middle of the back seat, John watched her for several minutes, then typed up a short text. Sherlock peered over at what he was typing, and his eyes widened slightly. He arched an eyebrow at John, who shrugged and shook his head before sending the text. Jim nudged him gently, then took the mobile and scrolled through the messages to see what John had sent. He coughed and handed the mobile back.

"What are you three doing?" Mycroft asked as he pulled the car into a parking space outside Livvy and Martin's townhouse.

"I'll tell you inside," John answered. Next to him, Jim opened the door and jumped out of the car, then opened Livvy's door and helped her out. She smiled slightly, but said nothing until they were all inside, setting her laptop on the desk in the sitting room and plugging a cable into the side. She opened the computer and tapped a few keys, then turned to look at the others.

"Nothing yet," she said. "The search isn't finished. Jim, would you turn on the printer? I'm thinking we'll want hard-copies of whatever I find."

"So we can all see it, yes," Mycroft agreed. "Olivia, sit down. You need to rest. And eat. We never ate dinner."

"I'm not hungry, Papa," Livvy said. She sat down in one of the armchairs, but a moment later was up again and pacing. "I can't trace his mobile. They left it behind. Papa, did you put any tracers on him at all?"

"I'd have told you if I did," Mycroft answered.

Livvy scowled at him. "No, you wouldn't have."

"Eventually, I would have," Mycroft clarified. "But no, I did not. Now I'm regretting that choice."

"What about the van? Does it have a GPS?" Jim asked.

Livvy shook her head. "Martin couldn't afford one before. And now... well, we kept talking about it, but we never got around to it. Especially since he was going to sell it."

"Martin was selling his van?" John asked, shocked.

"His own idea. There's no place for a car seat," Livvy answered. "I made a deal with him. Family car now, and he can indulge in a sports car like Douglas has on his thirty-fifth birthday." She turned away and took a long breath. "I know he's coming home. I know that. But I'm still scared."

"Understandable," John said. "Now, you need something to eat, Livvy."

She shook her head again, then turned towards the computer as it started to chime. "The search is finished," she said, going to the laptop and tapping more keys. The printer began to churn, then spit out papers. She gathered them up and handed them out. "Jim's initial background search is in here, too," she said as she handed the papers to John.

The only sound for a long time was the rustling of papers. Mycroft sat near the fireplace, a small frown on his face as he read. John and Sherlock sat side by side on the couch, and Jim sat in front of them on the floor, tailor fashion, papers spread around him. He steepled his fingers under his chin and scowled.

"I'm not losing my touch, am I?" he asked at length. "There is nothing here that anyone would consider a threat?"

"A-levels. Worked three years with... well, that's a major airline. They pay a hell of a lot more than MJN can. Why did she leave?" John asked.

"They won't give that information to a prospective employer," Jim answered. "So I checked their personnel files -- horrible security. She was fired for dereliction of duties. She missed a flight." He frowned, then nodded. "Out of Mumbai. She missed her return flight. When she finally showed up at the airport the day after, they brought her home and sacked her. She applied to MJN a few weeks later."

"And you didn't think this was a problem?" Sherlock asked. "Where was she?"

"According to her statement, she took ill with food poisoning," Jim answered. "But the other attendants said that she wasn't in her hotel room, and didn't answer her mobile."

"Interesting. Olivia, is there any connection between the MJN schedule and the paranormal activities that Miss Rosenberg reported?" Mycroft asked. Then he sat up straight, staring at his daughter. "Olivia?"

Livvy was facing the desk, one hand flat on the tabletop, the other on her back. She was standing very still, and her eyes were closed. John slowly got to his feet and went up to her.

"How long?" he asked. She shook her head, then let out a long breath and looked up. John sighed and smiled. "Don't hold your breath, Livvy. That makes it worse."

Livvy gave him a wry grin. "I thought you didn't know anything about obstetrics?"

"I've been learning. Now, how long?"

"I'm not sure. I've been having false labor for almost a week. Practice contractions, Maggie called them, This one... this was different."

"Did that just mean what I think it just meant?" Jim asked, his eyes very wide. "Did you--"

"Maybe?" Livvy answered. "I don't know. I've never done this before." She looked up at Mycroft, who had come to stand next to her. "Papa, I want Martin. He's supposed to be here."

"We'll find him," Sherlock said from behind John. "We'll find him, Poppet. But we need more information. The patterns?"

Livvy nodded. "They match. The presence vanished from London whenever Fiona was part of the cabin crew. So she's either connected to this... whatever it is, or she _is_ this whatever it is."

"We still don't know what it is?" Jim asked, turning over pages.

"Willow says foreign. Like nothing she's ever felt before. The coven in London couldn't place it either."

"Right," Jim leaned back against the couch and nodded. "So... she's off in the wilds of Mumbai--"

"Mumbai isn't that wild, Jim," Mycroft chided.

Jim grinned at him. "Honey, you don't know Mumbai like I know Mumbai. Anyhow, she's in Mumbai. And she picks up... what? An interesting souvenir?"

"Either that, or the real Fiona never left Mumbai, and something is wearing her shape." John went back to the couch and picked up his papers. "Can we find out if she's had a medical examination since she started at MJN?"

"I might be able to do that," Livvy answered. She turned towards her laptop, then caught her breath. "Oh!"

"Livvy?" John dropped papers and went back to Livvy's side. "Another contraction?"

"No," Livvy answered, shaking her head slightly. She frowned, looking distant and confused. Then... "Willesden?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know. It just... it popped into my head. I've no idea why." She blinked and closed her eyes, her frown growing deeper. Sherlock started to open his mouth, and Mycroft waved him silent.

"Olivia? Is Martin in Willesden?" he asked quietly.

In a very soft voice, she answered, "Yes."

And John was just fast enough to catch her as she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

#

It was getting harder to keep his eyes open.

Between whatever Fiona had used to drug him, the panicked magic attack and the constant drain of his shields, Martin was feeling more exhausted than he ever had in his life. He kept catching himself nodding, and the inside of his lip was sore from where he kept biting it to keep himself awake. But he had to stay awake. He didn't have unconscious control yet. Willow said it would come with time, but now, if he slept, his shields would crumble.

So he couldn't sleep. Not until someone found him. However long that took.

To make things worse, the fatigue was starting to play games with his mind and his eyes. He was hallucinating, and badly. He had to be hallucinating. There was no way that Fiona could possibly be moving. She was dead.

There was no way she could have gotten up.

No way at all that she could be standing at the foot of the bed, her head tilted at a truly grotesque angle.

And absolutely no way in hell that she could be talking to him.

"That wasn't very nice, Captain," she was saying. Her voice was odd. Accented. Martin frowned, trying to place the accent, then dismissed it. Why bother? He was hallucinating. "Really, couldn't you have just laid back and thought of England?"

Martin groaned, tipping his head back. "Great. That... that's just great. Kidnapped. Assaulted. Probably missing my daughter's birth. And now I'm losing my mind. And making bad jokes in the bargain!"

She laughed, a broken, rusty sound. "Now why would you say that you were losing your mind?"

Martin looked at the woman standing at the foot of the bed and scowled. Then he snorted, feeling almost drunk on his exhaustion. "Because you're dead! I didn't mean to kill you. Honestly, I didn't, and I am very, truly sorry. But you... you're still dead!"

She smiled at him, and Martin had to fight the urge to scream. "Isn't that sweet? You're apologizing for killing my host. And after everything I did? You really are a gentleman, aren't you? I almost regret the necessity of killing you, Captain."

"Host?" Martin repeated. "H... host?" He straightened, fear burning off his lethargy enough that he could focus. "Oh, my God. I'm not hallucinating. You're... oh, God. What are you?"

She laughed again, coming around the foot of the bed and curling up opposite Martin, her back against the foot board. "What I am, my dear Captain, is patient." She reached out, and Martin saw a flash and a trail of pale sparks follow her fingertips along his outermost shield. "How long will these last? How long can you keep me out?"

Martin glared at her, no longer tired. He started to push more energy into his shields, then stopped. She wasn't attacking. She had just said she was going to wait him out. But she didn't know that there were people looking for him. So all he needed to do was maintain, until help arrived. And help was coming, he was certain of that. There was a note, locked safely away, that proved he would get out of this alive. He settled himself until he was as comfortable as he could get and met her eyes across the bed.

"So, since I obviously can't call you Fiona, what's your name?" he asked, and was rewarded with a surprised, almost wary look. Good. This was war, and this was not the mountain on which he was going to die.  


	5. Chapter 5

 Sherlock took Livvy from John and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the wide bed. John checked her vitals quickly, then looked up at Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Willesden? That's northwest London," John said. "That's where Willow sensed Martin's magic." He checked Livvy's pulse once more, then straightened. "How could she know that?"

"Martin may be trying to contact Olivia." Mycroft said. He paused, and John got the impression that he was arguing with himself. After a lifetime of keeping the secret of the origins of the Holmes, one year wasn't long enough to break the habits of what to say and what not to say. Finally, he nodded. "It's... not impossible. Not for one of the bloodline."

John thought back to the meld, to being part of the whole that was the Holmes bloodline. Of the feeling of loss that came after, when he was once more alone inside his own mind. He looked away, back to Livvy, who groaned and opened her eyes.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You decided to take a very sudden nap in the middle of the sitting room," John said with a smile. "How do you feel?"

"My back hurts," she answered, sitting up. John helped her to her feet, feeling her shudder. When he looked at her, her eyes were closed, her lips moving slightly. Counting, John realized.

"That was a contraction. Definitely," she said after a moment. She looked up, looking younger than John had ever seen before. Younger, and more frightened. "Find him? Please?"

"We know where to look now," John said quietly. "We'll find him." He looked over at Mycroft and nodded. "I've sent a text to Sarah. She'll meet you at the hospital. I hope you have Maggie's information, because I didn't."

"I have it," Mycroft said. "I'll call her when we're on our way." He came over and put his arm around Livvy's shoulder, then looked at Sherlock. "Good hunting, brother."

Sherlock nodded. He met Livvy's eyes, then came forward and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll bring him back, Livvy," he murmured, then swept out, John and Jim hurrying behind him.

#

"Where do we start?" John asked as he climbed into the back of the cab. "We can't go haring off to Willesden. Not without knowing where we're going."

"Of course not. We need more information," Sherlock answered.

"So, we're heading to the department, then?" Jim asked. "Because I have another question."

"What, Jim?"

"We're facing something magic," Jim said, pitching his voice low. "What is it, and how do we fight it? We're walking in blind, and I don't like it."

John nodded, chewing his lip. "We've no way of knowing, but there are things that work on most demons. Salt, holy water, that kind of thing. Things that will work in the hands of an educated layman."

Sherlock didn't say anything for several minutes. Then he cleared his throat. "Like you, John?"

"Like me," John answered. "We need to find them, first. Driver, you can let us out here!"

The cab stopped, and the three men got out. Sherlock waited until the car pulled away before he spoke again. "I don't like this, John."

"I know. I don't like it either. This isn't my area. But what choice do we have? There's no way to get Willow down here quickly enough--"

"What about the local coven?" Jim asked.

John shook his head. "There's no one of Willow's caliber. Not in London. If I could get... I don't know, maybe six? Then perhaps. But the point is that we have no time!"

"You're right. You're right, we don't have time. What do you have to do?"

"I need to get some supplies. You two, go below. Find out where we're going. I'll meet you back here in... half an hour. Tell Anthea we'll need a car."

"Right," Jim said with a nod. He took Sherlock's arm and tugged him gently towards the door. "Come on. I want you to check me. I'm not feeling at all confident in myself right now."

"What?" Sherlock asked., turning towards Jim.

"I fucked up," Jim answered, his voice flat. "I fucked up badly, and Martin may very well be paying for it. I need to not fuck up again. So come with me."

"All right." Sherlock turned back to John, leaned down and kissed him. "Be careful, John."

"That's my line, usually," John replied. Sherlock smiled at that and followed Jim into the building that housed the main entrance to the department. Once they were gone, John pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialed quickly. "Come on... pick up... ah! Anna, it's John Watson. Are you still open? Can you stay a bit? I've got a situation, and I'm on my way. I need anything you can pull together for protection and banishing. No. No idea. Going in blind. I know. I'll be there in ten minutes." He started walking as he talked, hurrying towards the corner where he could find another cab.

#

"Call me Mohini," she'd finally told him. Which finally identified her accent, although how some sort of Indian demon had come to be possessing Fiona was a mystery. She didn't move again, didn't try his shields again. She just sat there, at the foot of the bed. Waiting.

For his own part, Martin was trying to tune out the rumbling of his stomach and how thirsty he was. And how tired -- now that the adrenaline rush was over, the exhaustion was back. He shook his head, and bit his lip hard enough that he tasted blood.

"Look, tell me why," he finally snapped. "I've never done anything to you. I barely knew you! Why the hell are you trying to kill me?"

Mohini sniffed, looked away. "Because you are a male of power, and you have betrayed your wife."

"What?" Martin gasped. "You... you're serious? You're going to kill me, because you think I betrayed Livvy? Because of what? What you think happened in Monaco?"

"Of course," she answered.

It was a few minutes before Martin got control of himself and his giggles enough to see the completely confused look on Mohini's face. He shook his head and let out a long breath. "Right. I assume you have my clothes around here somewhere? And my wallet?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Go get the wallet," Martin told her. Mohini frowned and got off the bed, and Martin heard her rustling around behind him somewhere. When she came back, she was carrying his wallet. Martin nodded. "Open it. There's a hidden pocket, inside the... yes. There. The letter in there? Read it."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, unfolded the paper, and slowly read through it. Her eyes flickered up and looked at Martin. Then she read it again.

"What is this?" she finally asked.

"Livvy calls it my hunting license. She knows what it's like, being an airline pilot. She knows, because I've told her. Especially since the knighting. There's that whole hero of the realm thing that goes along with it. And I swear the wedding ring makes it worse! I've had more women make passes at me in the past year -- including you! -- then I've had since puberty! Livvy knew that the temptation was always going to be there, and she wrote that," Martin nodded towards the letter in Mohini's hand, "to set limits on what I can and cannot do."

"So she _knows_?"

"It was her idea. She came with us as stewardess, one trip when Arthur had the flu. We didn't tell anyone she was my wife, and she watched during a storm delay as four stewardesses and another pilot all tried to convince me to find a private room. After that, she told me that as long as I was careful and discreet, and didn't leave any little Crieffs laying around, that she gave me permission. And she gave me that letter. You can see what she expects of me. And honestly, since I married her, I've gotten... well, fussy. I'm not going to settle for some tart in a uniform."

"Is that what I was? A tart in a uniform?"

"Well... yes," Martin admitted.

"And before you married?"

"In a heartbeat. But, by the same token, you'd never have made a pass at me before. A lot has happened to me in the past year. So, to go back to your question, does my wife know that I've slept with three other women and two men since we got married? Yes. And, for your information, for two of those women and both men, she was with me. Monaco? She was there, in the bed, with Jean-Paul and me. That was what shocked Arthur -- there were three of us in the bed, and he didn't think you could do that! Oh, and if Livvy wasn't there, then I've told her about each of them. In detail. So tell me again how I betrayed my wife?" Martin asked. Mohini didn't answer. She folded the letter and put it carefully back into Martin's wallet. Then she sat there, silent, for several minutes.

"Is it betrayal, if the other person doesn't think of it as such?" she finally asked.

"I don't think so. Nor does my wife," Martin answered. "So, quite frankly, who the hell are you to judge me?"

She went silent again, then stood up and walked away. Her gait was odd; she looked stiff and awkward. Martin frowned, then realized what was happening to her. Rigor was setting in. Fiona's body had realized it was dead.

"Look, since you know now that you've made a mistake, can you let me go?" he called out. "My daughter is due any day now, and I'd really like to be there."

Mohini sighed, coming back towards the bed. "You're right. You are right, and I apologize. You were always very kind to me, until I pushed too hard. I should not have targeted you. I should have waited until I found a true victim."

"What would that be?" Martin asked.

"Someone who abused their responsibilities, who took joy in the betrayals, who fed off the hurt and anger of their victim," she answered.

"You're some kind of a vengeance demon?"

"You know about my kind?" She sounded shocked.

"Enough to know that what you're hunting is what happened to you." Martin licked his lips and looked away. "In that case, I wish you good hunting. Just make sure you're right next time."

"That's very kind of you."

Martin nodded. "Will you let me go now?"

"I'm afraid I can't." Mohini smiled sadly as Martin turned towards her. "You see, you killed my host. I know that was an accident. But I cannot animate a dead body for more than a few hours, and if I don't have another host, I'll... become a powerless spirit." She reached out, and Martin gasped as his outermost shield failed and fell. "I don't have very much time... but neither do you."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Martin said softly. "What happens? When you take a host, what happens to the person? Because if it's just temporary--"

"It isn't. The consciousness that is you will cease to be. I will have your memories, and your body will live on, until I abandon it or until something kills it." She resumed her place at the foot of the bed. "I think this may very well be the first time that I regret my choice of host."

"I appreciate the sentiment. But I'm not letting you take me."

"You don't have much of a choice, my dear Captain. Nor do I. And you will make a fine host."


	6. Chapter 6

 When John got back to the department, he found Doctor Kuryakin sitting in the Hub, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. He looked up as John came towards him.

"They're in the Web," he said. "Tell me what is happening? Sherlock only said that they have no time. There was little I could do to help, so I came here to wait for you."

John nodded, setting his bags down on the table. "The best that we can put together, based on what Carolyn told us and what Willow's picked up from Martin, is that Martin has been kidnapped by something magic that took the form of the MJN stewardess. We think he's being held in Willesden, and that's what Sherlock and Jim are trying to find."

The older man had straightened as he listened, and now looked at John's bags. "And you were doing what?"

"Picking up supplies," John answered. He opened one of the bags and started pulling out bags and jars. "Blessed salt. Sage. Asafoetida--"

"I have something for you," Illya said quietly. He set his cup down and rose, moving stiffly towards "Come with me."

Mystified, John followed Illya down a corridor towards a door that John had never gone through, the door to Doctor Kuryakin's lab. He stopped just inside the door, looking around as Illya went to a cabinet in the corner. There was equipment that he'd never seen before, things that he had no idea what they were, and things that he was fairly certain hadn't originated on this planet. He knew damned well that if he brought Sherlock into this room, he wouldn't see his husband for at least a week.

"You've never had Sherlock in here, have you?" he asked, turning to see Illya closing the cabinet.

"You can tell?" Illya asked in response. "I am fond of the boy, but he does have an unfortunate tendency to blow things up that don't need to be blown up. After he destroyed my last lab, I stopped having him in here."

"You should come have dinner with our landlady one night," John said wryly. "You and she could commiserate about things being blown up that shouldn't have been. We still aren't entirely sure how he managed to destroy the washing machine..." his voice trailed off as Illya held a dusty-looking pouch out towards him. "What is that?"

"Take it. I think you might need it." Illya proffered the pouch again. "Go on. It won't bite."

John took the pouch and opened it, tipping it over his palm and letting a small pile of gold spill out into his palm. He picked it up, discovering that it was a gold coin with a hole in the middle, strung on a gold chain.

"An amulet?" John asked. He looked up sharply. "You... your Romani relatives. The gift that you sent to Willow last year. You said it was from your Romani relatives."

"Very good, Doctor. This belonged to my mother. She had it from her mother, who had it from hers." Illya reached out and closed John's hand around the amulet. "Wear it well, Doctor."

"I can't take this!" John protested. "This... this a family heirloom--"

"And I have no sons. No daughters. No one who could take this," Illya interrupted. "Mark was a good friend. And I don't know if you know this, but he thought of you as the closest he had to a son. It would please me if you would accept this."

There was nothing John could say. He opened his hand, looked down at the coin, then strung the chain around his neck and tucked it into his shirt. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome. Now, you seem to be prepared on every other level."

"Except that I don't know where we're going," John reminded him.

"By now, the boys do."

#

Sherlock and Jim were both bent over the computer when Illya and John walked into the Web. Standing with his back against the wall, Napoleon drew then to the side as they entered.

"They're close," he said. "How's Livvy?"

"In labor, last I know. I haven't checked since we left the house. Mycroft is with her, and he was taking her to the hospital."

Napoleon nodded. "Not the birth center? I thought that was the plan?"

"It was, but they changed it," John answered, hearing Jim muttering behind him. "The midwife is nervous about the damage to Livvy's hip from the car accident. She wanted closer access to interventions if necessary."

"A wise choice," Illya said, nodding.

"Ha!"

John looked up as Jim's voice rang out -- Jim had stood up from the computer and was holding his arms up in the air, looking like the world's smallest boxer.

"You found something?" John asked.

"I found her!" Jim crowed. "She rented the warehouse under her own name!"

"Which makes no sense. Didn't she realize we'd be looking for her?" Sherlock muttered. He scowled at the keyboard, then tapped a few keys. "Apparently, she's an idiot."

"No, I don't think so," John said. "I'll bet you a week's worth of shopping that she changes forms when she does this. So what she leaves behind is the body of the person who made the rental."

"Death by natural causes?" Jim asked. John shrugged.

"Maybe. We have an address. Sherlock, call Greg and let him know. See if he wants to meet us. Do we have a car?"

"Waiting in the garage," Anthea said from behind them. "Good luck, gentlemen."

#

They didn't talk again, didn't say another word. There was nothing more to be said, and Martin was deeply afraid that even though the Doctor had promised that there were five children in his future, that it was not going to be him in the body that sired those children. He was not going to let that happen. Help was coming. He just had to wait.

But in the end, sleep won.

Martin remembered closing his eyes, thinking that it was only for a moment. It wouldn't hurt... but the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back once more, his legs pinned down, and Mohini was crouched over him. He jerked, trying to throw her off of him, feeling sharp pain in his wrists as the sharp edges of the cuff cut into his wrists. She shook her head and pushed down on his shoulders.

"I am sorry, Captain," she said, her voice slurred. "I cannot wait any longer. I will take care of your wife and child." She leaned down and kissed him, and Martin was suddenly very glad he'd eaten nothing all day -- being kissed by a corpse was nightmare-inducing even if you weren't on the receiving end. Desperate, he reached for whatever magic he had left... and found nothing. No way to fight back, no way to stop her; he turned his head away and closed his eyes, feeling her magic settling over him as she did.

"Don't go near them," he whispered, feeling his voice catching in his throat. "Promise me that."

"If that is your wish."

She started to move over him, her magic growing stronger, tugging at the edges of Martin's thoughts, only to stop short with a gasp of surprise as something crashed loudly in another part of the warehouse. Then Martin heard his name, and knew the voice.

"John," he gasped, then raised his voice. "John! Here! Help--" His cry was cut off as one surprisingly strong hand was pressed over his mouth. Another curled around his throat, and he went very still as something sharp dug into his skin.

"Well, it appears that the cavalry has arrived," Mohini murmured, her eyes never leaving Martin's. "You might as well come out, the lot of you." she called.

"Let him go, Fiona."

That was Greg Lestrade, from another part of the warehouse. Martin tried to turn towards him, but Mohini held him in place. She looked to her left, then to her right. "Well, I've never had an audience for this before."

"Let him go." That was John, and he sounded as angry as Martin had ever heard him.

"No. And you'll stay back, or I'll rip his throat out." Her fingers tightened, and Martin let out a muffled yelp as her nails pierced his skin.

"That's impossible." At the sound of Sherlock's voice, Martin closed his eyes and swallowed. But there were no insults, no sharpness. Just... confusion. "Look at her. Look!" Sherlock continued. "Her neck is broken. She's dead. Four hours, at the very least."

"Unless the demon is animating the body. In which case..." John paused, and when he spoke again, he was obviously talking to Mohini. "You can't kill him. You've no place to go."

Martin felt the grip on his throat ease. "No. I am running out of time," Mohini said. She looked down at Martin and shook her head slightly -- Martin could hear the creaking of her neck as she moved. "I am out of time. He is mine." She shifted, then froze. "No..."

"What? What's happening?"

Martin wasn't about to answer Greg's question, even if he could. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, then John was standing next to the bed, holding out one hand. Fiona straightened, her hands falling away as she turned towards him.

"It's over, Fiona. Let him go," John said gently. Fiona looked down at his hand, then up and met his eyes. Slowly, she reached out and touched him... then launched herself at him, carrying the both of them to the ground.  


	7. Chapter 7

  John went down hard, hearing Sherlock shout as he had the breath knocked out of him. Fiona landed on top of him, grabbing his wrists with fingers that felt more like claws, keeping him from reaching the pouches of salt and herbs that he'd put in his coat pocket. He heard Sherlock shout, saw Jim come around the bed and dive at Fiona, only to bounce off an invisible something and fall to the floor. Above him, Fiona snarled, her teeth bared like fangs.

"I can't take you, but I can kill you," she growled. "I can kill all of you before I die."

John yelped as she went for his throat, then yelped again as something began to burn against his chest. There was a sudden burst of white light that completely engulfed Fiona; she fell back, rolling away from John, screaming. John sat up just in time for the screams to stop, and saw nothing but a pile of ash on the floor.

"John?" Sherlock crouched down next to him. "Are you all right? Did she hurt you?"

"No. No, I'm fine." He let Sherlock pull him to his feet and looked around. Greg was working on freeing Martin and Jim...

Jim walked up to them, his face completely expressionless. "You're all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Good."

The punch caught John completely off-guard; he staggered back into Sherlock, then stared at Jim on shock. "What the hell?"

"Have you gone fucking mental?" Jim shouted. "That was a fucking demon, and she was going to rip his throat out--"

"That was a bluff!"

Jim continued as if John hadn't said anything. "And even if she wasn't, she was going to steal his body and kill him! And you're all 'Poor thing, come on and let's help you.' Have you gone completely insane? You are not supposed to take risks like that!"

John rubbed his jaw and looked down at the pile of ash. "That probably wasn't one of my best decisions, no." He looked up at Sherlock. "Are you going to hit me, too?"

"No," Sherlock said after an uncomfortably long silence. "Not that you don't deserve it. But I think Jim said everything that needed to be said."

"The little laser was nice, though. Even if it did put a hole in your shirt," Jim added, in one of his whiplash-fast changes of mood. "Where did you find that?"

"That wasn't a laser," John murmured, looking down at the neat, black-edged hole in his shirt. He touched his chest and nodded, then pulled the gold chain out. "That was this."

Jim reached out and lifted the coin, leaning close to study it. "That's old. And... Cyrillic? Where did you get this? At the magic shop?"

"No. Doctor Kuryakin gave it to me."

"John, I could use you over here," Greg called out.

John tucked the coin back into his shirt and looked over at Martin, who Greg had freed from the bed. "Martin?"

Martin didn't answer. He didn't look up at all. "His wrists are cut up pretty badly," Greg said. "And there's blood on the sheets."

"We'll have to deal with the physical evidence," Sherlock said quietly. "No one will believe that he was kidnapped and assaulted by a demon." He paused, then murmured. "I don't believe it, and I saw it."

"Right," John said briskly. He frowned, looking around. "I'll need to see if she has anything I can use. And we'll call Anthea--"

"I'll take care of it," Jim interrupted. "Get him out of here, and I'll follow later."

"You're sure?" John asked.

"Yeah. Been a while since I blew something up. Need to get it out of my system."

John shook his head and looked around, saw an open door. He hurried over, discovered that he was right and it was the bathroom. Inside a box, he found first aid supplies, which he brought back to the bed.

Martin looked up as he came closer, and John silently cursed at the haunted look in the younger man's eyes. "Let me patch you up," he said quietly, kneeling in front of Martin. "Then we'll get the hell out of here."

"I killed her," Martin said quietly.

"She would have killed you," Sherlock said. "I think my daughter would prefer to have you living."

Martin looked up. "Livvy? Is she all right?"

"She's in labor, Martin."

"Oh god," Martin moaned softly. "Is she... she's never going to forgive me."

"It's not your fault, Martin," Jim said as he sat down next to Martin. "You didn't ask for this. You didn't do anything to deserve it. And there is nothing to forgive."

There was an odd note in Jim's voice, one that made John look sharply at him, then over his shoulder at Sherlock. Who was frowning. Jim didn't seem to notice. He patted Martin on the shoulder, then stood up.

"I'll find your clothes. Once you're dressed, this lot can get you to the hospital. Greg, loan me your car?"

"Sure," Greg said, tossing the keys to Jim. "So, what the hell was that thing?"

"Some kind of vengeance demon," Martin answered. "She called herself Mohini."

"I'll have to ask Giles about that one," John said as he taped down the last piece of gauze. "There you go. I'll look at them again later. Jim?"

"Clothes are in the bathroom."

"Thank you," Martin said. He looked up at John. "And Carolyn?"

"Had probably been discharged by now," John answered.

"More than likely because the nurses have decided they've had enough of her," Sherlock added.

"Now, why does that sound familiar?" Jim wondered out loud. Martin smiled slightly. then stood up and staggered a little. He waved off John's hand.

"I'm all right. Too much magic, not enough food. I'm off-balance. I held her off as long as I could--" he stopped abruptly and turned, walking towards the bathroom with as much dignity as a naked man could possibly possess.

"John?" Sherlock murmured. "Why didn't she take him?"

John licked his lips and looked up. "Ah.... because we interrupted, I imagine."

"That makes no sense. She had him, she could have taken him while we watched, and we'd never have been able to stop her," Jim said. "But she stopped. She... oh." He snorted and grinned, looking a bit embarrassed. "Yeah." He looked at John, who realized what Jim meant.

"I... see."

"What?" Sherlock asked. "What?"

"Ah... she couldn't finish the spell," John answered slowly, looking towards the bathroom. The door was still closed.

"Obviously. But why not?" Sherlock insisted.

"Come on, Sunshine. You're not usually this dense," Greg said as he joined them. "The spell was sex-related, wasn't it? Not everyone is the exhibitionist you are." Sherlock's brow furrowed, then he silently mouthed the word, "Oh." Greg snorted once, then turned as the bathroom door opened.

Martin came out, dressed in his shirt and trousers, his coat and tie in one hand. He stopped when he saw the others looking at him. John studied him for a moment; apart from the bandages, he looked unharmed. Unless you looked close enough to see the red-rimmed eyes.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here. Jim?"

"Go. I'll see you at the hospital."

#

_He could taste her lips on his, feel her magic crawling over his skin. No one was coming. No one would ever know he was dead..._

"Martin?"

Martin jerked awake, only recognizing the voice as John's after a near-panicked flail. John smiled wryly from across the car.

"Thought you might wake up rough. Here." He held out a steaming take-away cup. "You look like you need it."

"Coffee?" Martin asked, hearing the rasp in his voice.

"Yeah. And I've got a sandwich for you, too, and a sweet. You were so far gone you didn't even budge when we stopped and Greg ran into the shop." John passed the paper-wrapped sandwich over to him.

"Hope you like chicken salad," Greg added from his place behind the wheel. "It was all they had at this hour."

"Right now, I think I'd eat my shoes. Or Arthur's Surprising Rice," Martin said as he unwrapped the sandwich. It disappeared very quickly, and he washed it down with some of the coffee as John handed him another paper-wrapped bundle that proved to contain a sticky-sweet danish. He inhaled that, too, finished the coffee, then looked around.

"Better?" John asked. Martin looked at him, and the doctor winced. "Sorry. Are you still hungry?"

"Not right now. Thank you. Where are we?"

"About five minutes from St. Barts," Greg answered. "And I checked with My. You haven't missed anything."

Martin slumped in his seat. "Thank you. God, what do I tell her?"

"Right now?" John answered. "You tell her that you love her. The rest can come later. She's... a bit preoccupied right now."

Martin snorted. "Yes, I imagine she is."

"Martin, if you want to talk, you have several people who will listen." Martin fought the urge to stare as Sherlock turned towards him and said that. The next statement hit him even harder. "We... I... understand."

"I..." Martin cleared his throat and nodded. "Thank you. Not... not yet."

"When you are ready."

The rest of the drive was made in silence. At the hospital, Greg went to park the car, and John and Sherlock flanked Martin as they hurried through the halls towards Maternity.

"Martin!"

At the sound of his name, Martin turned. "Carolyn!" he gasped. "Are you all right?"

"Never mind me!" she snapped as she reached them. "Are you all right?" She looked him up and down, then took both of his arms in her hands. "Your poor wrists."

"I'm... alive," Martin stammered after a moment. "Not fine. But alive."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose that's a start," Carolyn agreed. "I've been helping Mister Holmes. He's been a bit green, I'm afraid."

"Mycroft? Green?" John asked.

"From what I gather, this is rather a bit more intimate than he thought he'd ever find himself with his daughter," Carolyn answered. "I think Martin had best get inside."

Martin tried to picture Mycroft green, and couldn't. The idea was absurd. But then, the whole day had been absurd, and if he stopped to think about it too long, he'd go mad. So he nodded and forced a smile. "Right."

"Good man. I'll go find Arthur. There was a young lady here, checking on Livvy." Carolyn frowned, then nodded. "Molly. That was her name. Sweet-faced child. Arthur's gone to fetch her a cup of coffee."

Martin heard something from behind his right shoulder. It couldn't have been a laugh. Not from Sherlock. He was losing what little sanity he had left. Instead of turning, he nodded towards a door. "There?"

"Yes. Good luck, Martin." Carolyn patted him on the arm and turned, heading down the hall. Martin didn't turn. He went to the door and went inside.

The lights were dim, something he and Livvy had discussed. And there was a birth pool set up off to one side. Oh, good. She'd wanted that. And Livvy, his Livvy, was leaning heavily on her father's arm, walking away from him. Mycroft, looking completely out of sorts in rolled-up shirt sleeves and no tie, looked up as the door opened, and he smiled.

"Olivia," he murmured. Livvy looked up at him, then over her shoulder.

"Martin."

He heard her voice crack, and was across the room and holding her as she started to cry. He held her tight, his face pressed into her sweat-damp hair, and they rocked together for several long minutes. He heard Mycroft, talking in a low voice, and Sherlock and John answering.

"I was afraid," Livvy mumbled into his shirt. "I was so afraid."

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry," Martin answered. "I never meant to scare you, Liv."

She nodded and sniffed, then looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

Martin licked his lips, then smiled slightly. "No. Not all right. But not hurt too badly. I'll be fine, Liv."

"Martin?"

Martin looked up to see John standing nearby. He smiled. "The nurses are kicking us out. Too many people in the room. Do you need anything?"

"No. No, thank you." Martin hugged Livvy tightly to him. "I've got what I need."

Livvy reached out and touched John's shirt, running one finger over a neat little hole. "What happened? This looks like a burn."

"Long story, Livvy. And you're about to be very busy. So I'll tell you later." John nodded and headed towards the door, and Sherlock came and took his place. Sherlock said nothing. Instead, he met Livvy's eyes, then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. John and Sherlock took Mycroft out, and Livvy sagged slightly against Martin.

"Are you ready, love?" he asked her.

"Are you?"

"I think so. Shall we have a baby?"


	8. Chapter 8

 In a small, private waiting room, John closed his eyes and leaned against Sherlock's shoulder. The soft, deep drone of his husband's voice, intermingling with the lighter counterpoint of Mycroft's, acted as a soporific, and he finally relaxed, dozing until someone kissed him. He opened his eyes to see Jim standing over him.

"Hi. When did you get here?"

"Ten minutes ago. Brought you something to eat."

"Thanks. What time is it?"

"Half seven." Jim handed him a cup of coffee and a paper-wrapped parcel, then passed another one to Sherlock, and a third to Mycroft. "Have I missed anything?"

"Greg went off to work. Carolyn and Arthur went home. Willow called, and is quite frantic. And Livvy is still in labor," Mycroft answered. "Doctor Sawyer was here about an hour ago--"

"I missed Sarah?" John asked once he'd swallowed his mouthful.

"She said to let you sleep," Sherlock said."She'll be back. She said that she thought it would be soon."

"It was." John looked up at the sound of Martin's voice; he was leaning against the door-frame, looking tired but happy. "She's beautiful. Well, they're both beautiful. But... she's beautiful." He smiled, bright enough to light up the room. "Livvy wants you all to come meet her."

All four men rose, and the small room was much smaller. Sherlock and Jim both started laughing, which set Martin off. John shook his head, looking fondly at his husband and their lover, then gently nudged Sherlock towards the door.

"Go on, Granddad."

Sherlock looked startled, then smiled broadly and followed Martin down the hall.

#

Martin opened the door and entered the room, smiling as Livvy looked up at him, then back down at the nursing baby in her arms.

"She's a beautiful baby," the other woman in the room said. "And she's nursing just fine. I'll come back and check on her again in a few hours."

"Thank you, Maggie," Martin told the midwife, who smiled at him, congratulated Mycroft, then left.

"Violet Lenore Holmes-Crieff," Martin said softly, reaching out and brushing one finger over the baby's dark hair. "You have visitors."

"I'd let you hold her, but she's greedy," Livvy said.

"There will be plenty of time for that," Mycroft assured her. He had, Martin noticed, the oddest smile on his face. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he had the same smile.

"Plenty of time to get to know her," John agreed. "We should let you two..you three rest."

"Just... just a moment, John," Martin blurted. "Mycroft. I need... to talk to you both." He swallowed and looked at Livvy, who smiled sweetly and looked back down at their daughter. Yes. Yes, this was right. "I... wanted to ask you about training."

"What sort of training?" John asked.

"I... don't know enough. I don't know nearly enough to protect myself and my family. I'm learning magic... but I need to know more." Martin took a long breath and drew himself up. "I need to know, and I would very much like it if you would teach me. I'd like to join the department."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow and looked at John; John nodded once, and Mycroft looked back at Martin. "In that case, welcome to the department, Martin."


End file.
